He'd gotten back in time to do chores at least. It was still early, and no one spoke a word about his absence. He could tell that Luke wanted to but refrained. Good, he didn't need the extra hassle. He didn't need the extra questions. He didn't need his cousin on his back, hovering over him, looking over his shoulder, all the things.

Nevertheless, chores were completed, albeit uneventfully. The real jostle didn't come until after breakfast, a little after eight o'clock. It came in the form of a phone call, one that Luke answered.

"Duke farm, this's Luke," he said.

The family watched as he listened to the speaker on the other end, his face growing grim.

"Luke? Who is it?" Daisy asked.

"Marie," Luke answered.

"Ain't she at work?" Bo asked.

Luke nodded, talking into the phone. "We'll be right there."

"Everythin' okay?" Jesse asked.

"Marie called from the hardware store, said it was urgent, me and Bo gotta go."

"Vague," Bo said.

"I know, but she sounded real worried, we better get out there. Where's Clayton? Clayton!"

The little man suddenly appeared at the sound of a finger snap. He cleared his throat, looking up at Luke. "Perhaps you should have one of those bells. Y'know, the ones used to call butlers. Anyway, good mornin', and you do realize this's the ninth time that you've called me in the past three days, cher."

"What? No I haven't."

Balladeer here, he has. In fact, it wasn't the ninth time. It was the tenth.

"Look, doesn't matter, we gotta go," Luke said urgently, grabbing his denim jacket from the back of his chair.

Bo snatched a biscuit from the table on his way out, Clayton opening the door for the two of them.

"Be safe!" Jesse called after them, standing up from the table. "And call me if anythin' happens! And don't go flyin' in that car!"

"We won't, Uncle Jesse!" Bo called back, following his cousin outside.

Within a moment, they were climbing into General and speeding off into town.

And I stood outside the store waitin' for 'em. Needless to say, I'd say they got there in record time.

As General pulled up to the hardware store, he parked on the street just outside the door. The three of them climbed out, starting towards the store. General smoked out of his car form, taking a seat on the curb. Luke turned to him, confused.

"General?" he ventured.

General looked up at the sound of his name, jumping up after a second of contemplation. "Oh, right." He ran ahead, entering the store behind Bo. "I forgot."

Marie was standing behind the counter with another woman, her hair a faded ginger. Marie breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the four of them walk in, walking out from behind the counter.

"Thank God," she said, continuing to walk down the center aisle, "I can't tell y'all how much of a scare it gave me this mornin' when I came to open. And normally I don't scare easy but this just about gave me a heart attack, fellas."

"You still ain't told us what it is," Luke pointed out.

Marie sighed, leading them to the back of the store and leading them out into the back alley through the stainless-steel employee door. To their left were pallets of water softener salt and ahead were two dumpsters in front of a garage. And lying in front of the dumpsters was a pale form. They each took a step back.

Rosco was standing near it, writing in a notepad. He looked up at the sound of them approaching, holding out a hand to them.

"Hold it right there, don't come any closer," he ordered.

"Rosco? What's goin' on?" Luke asked, taking a step forward.

The sheriff walked towards them, hands fidgety and shaking as he tucked his notepad back into his breast pocket.

"There… there's been a murder," he explained.

"Some plainclothes detective took away Jay, our manager, for questionin'," Marie added. "He found the body."

"And that makes him a suspect?" Luke asked.

"He has a criminal record," Rosco explained.

Luke opened his mouth to argue some more but stopped himself upon noticing the absence of Clayton. To which the little man was quickly located kneeling over the pale body by the dumpster.

"Wh- hey!" Rosco exclaimed. "What d'you think you're doin'?"

Clayton stood, spinning his knife in his bloodied hand. "Fixin' a mistake," he replied with a cracking grin.

Luke looked down to see that the bare body of the young man on the ground was lying on its back, stomach exposed. To which two words were carved into the boy's stomach. It now read "You're Next" but had previously read "Your Next" as those were the only characters that had bled. The young man was now far enough along his post-mortem journey that blood was clotted and settled, ceasing to flow. So Clayton's jagged apostrophe and added 'e' were clean of blood above the skin's surface.

Luke noticed the manner in which Clayton had said that and realized that the little man hadn't done such a thing to be crude but rather he was, in fact, badly shaken. "Okay, you… go cope somewhere else, alright?" With that, he pushed the smaller man out of the way, and at the same time, Bo wandered over.

"How bad is it?" he asked, peering past Luke.

His breath hitched in his throat and he felt his heart pound in his ears. That pale body, lying in the gravel. Like a dead animal, mouth hanging open, blood on his lips, eyes faded and opened wide, as if in shock. The only problem was, he was familiar, from his red hair to his big, round eyes and buck teeth. And the memories came back, middle school, high school, spitballs and lockers.

The only thing comparable to this would be the time the boy had gotten a dodgeball to the face and received a bloody nose because of it. Bo may or may not have been the one to throw it, but that part wasn't all that important anyway.

"Andy?" Bo choked out.

He felt his knees go weak and Luke put a hand on his arm to steady him. His breath came in short, erratic gasps and Luke guided him back over to the pallets of salt.

"Sit him down, he's gonna have a panic attack," Luke said, handing him off to Marie and General. "General, get him his inhaler."

"Uhh…" General's voice trailed off as he rummaged his pockets, pulling out various things. His registration, a pack of gum, his insurance card, most anything that was in his glove box. Finally, he procured the boy's inhaler, handing it to Marie.

Bo dropped his head between his knees, still trying to regain control of his breathing. Marie gave him his inhaler, letting him sit up and take a puff from it.

Rosco sighed and scratched the back of his head, taking a few steps toward Luke. "Undertaker's on his way. I suggest y'all get outta here, this's an official investigation, the Feds are involved," he said with a grumble. "Some geezer named Tollefson."

"Look, we can help you," Luke put in quickly. "Or rather, I can."

The sheriff grew skeptical, raising an eyebrow. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean I know who did it."

Y'know, I woulda worded that differently.

Rosco shut the cell door with a clang! As the sheriff disappeared, Luke came to the bars, resting his arms through them.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he muttered with a sigh.

The downstairs jail had since been outfitted with a table atop which sat a tape recorder. And within a moment, he heard a commotion coming down the stairs. It was a man with a loud voice, echoing down.

"What are you doing?" asked a different voice, deeper and calmer.

"I'm in a jail, might as well get some dick while I'm here, bound to happen anyways," said the first voice.

"Will you just move it? I shouldn't have even given you a phone call in the first place."

"Well, how else would I have called your mom?"

"Move!"

There was the sound of stumbling feet and out appeared a gray-haired man from the stairwell. He was short, hands cuffed behind his back and a Minnesota Vikings cap rested on his head.

The man behind him was dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, a badge clipped to his belt. He looked ready for retirement, as a detective, at least. He instructed the other to sit at the table, uncuffing his hands. The man did as he was told, sitting at the table before the tape recorder.

Rosco reappeared not a moment later, the detective walking over to him so that they could talk somewhat privately. It was somewhere along the lines of, "Don't think he did it."

Meanwhile, Luke watched as the man in the Vikings cap began to play with the tape recorder on the table. He listened to the playback of another interrogation, then discovered the record feature. Aptly, he blew into the microphone, then played back the sound, delighting in the fact that it'd picked it up. With a mischievous grin, he glanced at the two talking officers, making sure they weren't looking. The man then proceeded to carefully stand up from his chair, only to climb onto said chair and proceed to bend over to where his behind hovered over the tape recorder. The man quickly passed a stream of gas, climbing back down from the chair, and sitting back down, as if nothing happened. However, he'd been caught.

The plainclothes detective sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you sure this is the right guy?"

Rosco shrugged. "You said it yourself, he found the body, and he's got a record."

The detective shook his head, turning to look at the other man. "You're gonna clean that, I'm not getting pink-eye from your nasty ass."

The gray-haired man shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Ooh, daddy's drizzling."

The detective sighed, running a hand over his face. "Alright, let's go over the evidence again." He walked over to the table and sat down, flopping a folder down onto it. Promptly, he opened it, pulling out a small evidence bag. He held it up, revealing a cigarette butt inside. "Alright, cigarette butts were found at the crime scene, which aligns with the fact that you said you were outside smoking a cigarette when you found the body."

"That's not mine," the other man said matter-of-factly.

"Isn't it?" the detective asked. "If we test this, I'm willing to bet your DNA's on it."

With a smirk, the man took the bag from the detective, opening it and taking a small sniff of its contents. He scrunched up his nose, handing it back to the other man.

"See, that right there's a Marlboro," he said, reaching into his sweatshirt pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He held it up for the detective to see, the box bearing the name 'Newport' on it. "I only smoke Newports." He tossed the pack onto the table, the detective glancing at it, then back at him. "That enough evidence for ya, Detective Tollefson?"

The detective took a sniff for himself. After a moment, he gave a displeased sigh, dropping the evidence bag. "Fine, you're free to go."

The gray-haired man smiled and tipped his hat as he stood. "A-thank you." Just before he was about to leave, he took notice of Luke staring at him between the bars. Still smiling, he nodded. "What's crackalackin'? What're you in for?"

"Same as you," Luke answered.

The man smiled bigger, turning back around to look at the detective and pointing a thumb at Luke over his shoulder. "Is this your guy?"

The detective leaned in his chair to look at Luke past the other man. "I don't know, are you?"

"I don't smoke, detective," Luke said matter-of-factly.

"But you did say you know who the perpetrator is," Rosco pointed out.

He received a glance from the detective to which he flinched.

"I know who did it and I can tell you that he will kill again," Luke explained.

Rosco made a noise. "You do realize that makes you sound like an accomplice."

Luke nodded. "I know how it sounds, but I can guarantee that you ain't gonna find this guy without my help."

"And why's that?" the detective asked, raising an eyebrow. He seemed amused.

"Because I know him better than anybody else."

The detective and the sheriff exchanged glances.

Just then, a voice echoed in the chamber and all eyes turned.

"I'd advise you not to say anythin' more," said Clayton.

"And just who are you supposed to be?" asked the detective.

"I'm the boy's lawyer."

Rosco's gaze shot down to him and he seethed through his teeth. "What're you doin' here?"

Clayton answered in the same manner. "Disruptin' an investigation." He cleared his throat, stepping out into the room. "Now, I'm sure that there's a completely logical explanation for all of this."

"I was just gettin' to that-"

Clayton cut Luke off. "Ah, I told you to hush now. Tell me, detective, what is your reason for keepin' my client here? Where's the evidence that suggests he's a suspect?"

Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Rosco, you've known me all my life. D'you really think that I'd do somethin' like this?"

The sheriff shrugged.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Now ain't the time to be second-guessin' yourself here."

"Can I say something here?" the gray-haired man asked.

"Is it going to be useful?" the detective asked in return.

"Debatable."

"Then no."

"Will y'all hear me out?" Luke asked.

The detective waved his hand. "Go on, speak your peace."

"The name of the man you're lookin' for is Allen Ridgefield, and he's a whole world of contradiction. He's a big guy but he ain't easy to find and he walks with a limp but is more than capable of doin' somethin' like this."

"Well, you certainly seem to know a lot."

"Be happy to tell you more if you let me outta here."

The detective snapped his fingers and gestured to Rosco and the sheriff quickly reopened the cell, allowing Luke to step out.

"What else can you tell us?" asked Detective Tollefson. "Actually, first of all, how d'you know that he did it?"

"I'll get to that," Luke started. "Allen's from New Jersey, we met durin' basic trainin' in the Marines. We did two tours of duty in 'Nam together. It's a long story but the short version is… I left him behind, for dead, so the rest of us could get away. Problem is, he survived, and he ain't too happy with me."

"He's after you?"

"My family."

This seemed to confuse the detective. "The motive wasn't personal with the other victims."

"Sorry, victims. Plural? I thought there was just one."

Tollefson leaned back in his chair. "There were three others. One here, one in South Carolina, and one in West Virginia."

"Wait, two people've been killed in Hazzard?"

"You know our poor cadaver from this morning, Andy, but the first, the one you don't know, was a young hitchhiker. A John Doe."

"How long ago was this? Why doesn't anybody know about this?"

"Because we kept it under wraps. The last thing we want to do is cause a panic."

Luke nodded understandably. "So what now? I mean, d'you have a plan to find him?"

"Hey, not to tell you how to do your job but you should do one of those… those uhh…" the gray-haired man trailed off, snapping his fingers and stammering, trying to find the words he was going to say.

Finally, Detective Tollefson looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. "Are you having a fucking seizure?"

"Oh, now you made me lose my train of thought."

Just then, there was yet another commotion coming down the stairs and they all collectively looked up to see the rest of the Duke family thundering down. Jesse was red in the face and fuming, Daisy and Bo were following behind with General bringing up the rear. The Defect was looking all around, seemingly in disgust.

Jesse pointed a finger at Rosco, stepping up to him. "Alright, what in blue blazes is goin' on here? Why's Luke been arrested?"

At this, Detective Tollefson stood. "Well, he was taken into custody under suspicion of murder… but I think we've got it all figured out now."

"Murder? Murder? I got half a mind to sue this department for faulty arrest. Rosco, you know damn well that Luke, or any of us Dukes for that matter, wouldn't kill anybody!"

The sheriff didn't reply.

"Alright, now it's just getting crowded in here," the gray-haired man complained, folding his arms.

"Who're you?" Bo asked.

"Jason… Howell. Just call me Jay, everyone does."

"Oh, you're Marie's manager," Daisy pointed out.

Jay nodded. "Yeah."

Just then, General spoke up as well. "Man, is this what it looks like down here? Remind me to never get y'all arrested again."

Detective Tollefson waved his arms. "Alright, everybody out, you're all free to go, we're done here. Go take this matter somewhere else."

With that, the crowd was ushered out of the courthouse, the doors closed behind them. Jay, however, had stayed inside, the officers not noticing until after the doors were closed.

"What're you still doin' here?" the sheriff asked.

Jay shrugged. "Well, normally when I'm not at work, I'm at home with the kids, but now I'm neither. It's like a vacation."

"Oh, well in that case maybe you should go get us some donuts if you're not going to be useful," said Detective Tollefson in a half-joking manner.

Jay smirked. "Well, sure thing. Do you like sprinkles or the long, hard long-john?"

"Get me both."

Outside, Jesse was in his scolding mode, his face about as red as his cap. He was shaking a finger at Luke, however, it seemed as though his words were lost on his oldest nephew. "I told ya to call me if anythin' happened, and what d'you do? You don't listen! And that Rosco's got turnips for brains tryin' to accuse you of murder! Why didn't you call me?"

"I guess I… got caught up in the moment, I'm sorry," Luke replied quickly and calmly.

Jesse sighed, turning away from him to continue down the street. "I swear, the whole damn world's gone ignorant!"

Luke watched him go, staying behind, realizing that his cousins had done the same.

"He's got a point, why didn't you call him? You coulda at the store," Bo pointed out.

Luke turned to look at him over his shoulder. "'Cause I didn't want him to get involved."

"What? Luke this's crazy," Daisy said incredulously.

"He doesn't need this, he worries enough."

"Luke, this's a big deal. I mean, life or death, c'mon! He's got as much right to worry as he does to know," Bo argued.

"Look, I told the detective everythin' he needed to know. I'll admit, findin' Allen ain't gonna be no easy task but with any luck, they'll be able to find him before he makes a move."

"He's already makin' moves. We saw the same thing this mornin', he carved 'you're next' into Andy's stomach. He put him there so that he'd be found, so that I'd see it! I'd say it was pretty obvious that he's comin' for me next."

Before Luke could get another word in, Jesse interrupted their argument. "Boys!" It was more of a warning than anything, nevertheless obeyed. General shared a glance with Clayton as they left, General standing on the sidewalk for a moment, shaking his head, and sighing with his hands resting on his hips.

"Today just keeps gettin' better and better," he grumbled.